Life and Death
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: By the manner of her death, the Tal'darim would know her.


**Life and Death**

Atrias was dying.

The notion of a dying world tended to be romanticized. It was also a notion that rarely had a basis in reality. Stars destroyed planets far more than any other mechanism of the universe. And that was provided that planets formed in a star system at all in the chaotic process that was solar formation. Talis knew that protoss older and wiser than her had seen far more of the galaxy than she had. Had seen entire worlds smashed to pieces as the universe proved time and time again how fleeting life could be. But, in one of those rare cases, Atrias was dying. Its core temperature was far higher than any terrestrial world of this side should possess. Tectonic scans indicated that its mantle was in a state of flux with the outer core, that the outer core was collapsing into the inner core, and the inner core was increasing in density to the extent that it might even trigger a shift in gravity. Or, more likely, simply tear the world apart.

 _So what kills me first?_ the praetor wondered. _The planet? Or the detritus that grows on it?_

Detritus. Like the pathogens that had plagued the Firstborn aeons in the past, before technology and evolution had rendered them immune to all but the most virulent of diseases, the Tal'darim refused to fade. Like detritus, they huddled in the shadowy corners of the Sigma quadrant. Like diseases, they wanted to kill you. And only now, she reflected, as the line was held, did they have the capability to do it. Because not only were her forces outnumbered, not only were the Tal'darim pushing against them with ever increasing ferocity, but if they were pathogens, then the abominations that were interwoven in their ranks were true monsters. Hybrids.

 _They near._

Within the Khala, words were spoken. In less than a second, her head was turned. One of the monsters had appeared to her left flank. Its face hidden behind a shroud of psionic energy. Its body carried aloft on silver wings. Its presence a haze of hatred as she raised her glaive cannon, letting off a volley of shots that were absorbed by its shields. Shots that followed, even as she felt psionic energy crackle in the air around her. As it began to direct that hatred towards her in projectile form.

 _To oblivion with you!_

Her thoughts were defiant, but not needed. The hybrid had warped into the Templar line, which meant that it was either overconfident (if it even possessed enough rational thought to understand the notion of confidence, let alone other emotions), or that their foes simply had that number of assets to spare. But it did not come to pass, as a trio of Immortals opened fire on the creature. Disruptor bolt after disruptor bolt hit it, breaking its shields, knocking it back with each strike. Not even a hybrid could withstand such firepower.

 _Your aim is true,_ Talis thought, her words carried across the stream of consciousness that bound all Khalai to her comrades. _And your fire is just._

They would likely die. They would all likely die here, and words would not stop that. But if these were her last moments, then-

"Na adan atum!"

The words and thoughts behind them were raw and without subtlety. They alerted her to the Tal'darim zealot that had appeared before her in a flash of light, returning to physical form after charging at their line. They were the words of a fanatic, and one robbed of the Khala's light. And intentional or not, it gave her enough time for her to raise her glaive cannon as a shield as it plunged both of its psi-blades at her.

 _Not yet,_ she told him, as her blue eyes met her foe's red ones. A glow unlike anything she had ever seen in a member of her species. _I shall not die at your hand._

He withdrew his blades, leaving her cannon free. Inoperable, thanks to its strikes, but it gave her enough time to swing it like a club, bringing the weapon into the warrior's side, causing him to stagger.

 _Take him._

Stalkers fired at the fanatic as her thoughts guided their field of fire. The Tal'darim had numbers and raw rage, but they could not match the Khalai's cohesiveness in battle. Bolts of Void energy struck the warrior's shields, giving Talis enough time to unsheathe her shikma. A weapon of last resort, and of limited effect. But enough for her to charge forward and sink it through the fanatic's armour.

"Gah!"

He screamed, and she drew the blade in further. To her surprise, his body remained there – the particle disrupters must have damaged the suit's teleportation system. Or maybe the same field that was preventing her forces from warping out applied to the Tal'darim as well. Either way, she withdrew the blade. And watched her foe fall to the barren soil of this dying world.

"The Void…awaits me."

Plain, simple speech. The Tal'darim reminded her of lesser species – beings bereft of the Khala's light, so were forced to show their emotions through action. To speak and let the air carry their voices. Even the Nerazim bore a sophistication these fanatics lacked.

"The One True God…is reborn."

Talis's eyes flashed. God. Gods. She glanced around the field of battle, as the Templar's lines buckled – she'd believe in gods when they actually showed up.

"Unbelievers…will…"

She grabbed the fanatic by his suit collar, an anger coursing through her that she barely recognised. Anger she had not felt since Aiur had fallen. Anger that felt…alien.

"This world is dying," she said, making sure that the words would be heard by this waste of flesh. "Your people are dying." She grabbed him by the throat. "Where is your god now, you pathetic creature?" She tightened her grip. "Where is he?!"

"Reborn." The word was simple – protoss breathed through their skin. Strangulation was a method of murder best reserved for lesser species. "As this world dies, the True God lives."

"And is this why?" she whispered. "A world dies so your god can live?"

He didn't answer. The glow in his eyes faded. His body went limp. And all Talis did was stand there, a broken glaive cannon beside her, and a bloody shikma in her other hand.

This world was dying. Her people were dying. The latter because of belief in a xel'naga supposedly reborn. The former…she couldn't help but wonder if the two were linked. Had this world died, so that this "True God" could live? The one Zeratul had called Amon?

 _And if that is true…_

 _We cannot hold._

She returned her mind to the Khala, and felt her people's desperation. The Tal'darim kept coming. The hybrids kept coming. Death itself, kept coming.

 _Fall back into the temple,_ she said, activating her psionic amplifier – all would hear this, even at the risk of distraction. _Fall back and…_

She did not say, "and wait to die." But she couldn't think of a better way to give meaning to her imminent death either.

 _I can only hope this temple of yours is worth it._

She saw more Tal'darim approaching her. She began fleeing, and sent her shade ahead of her. None of them would catch her. Not until she chose the place of her last stand.

 _I truly hope it, Prelate._

Hope. It was a fragile thing.

Like bodies.

Like worlds.


End file.
